No Redemption
by BeakBurnerBeverage
Summary: Sometimes things don't work out as you thought they would, sometimes one you love turns his or her back on you and leaves you, sometimes love isn't enough, even though it should be. The Lich king has fallen and peace has been restored in Azeroth. A man that is supposed to be dead still lives and searches for purpose and soon ones he used to know and all of Azeroth will know.
1. Prologue

Jaina Proudmoore was walking through the streets of Theramore. She had just finished usual patrol through the city. It was a harsh life to live on the outskirts of Kalimdor. The environment is harsh, there are all sorts of creatures that would like to make you their dinner, but the ones who lived there had made it work.

She sighed in relief as she entered her tower and began ascending to her chambers. It was hard to believe it had only been two months since the fall of the Lich king. It had always been hard for her to believe what had happened in Northrend in general. But most of all, she still couldn't believe what that Arthas was gone. The friend she had known and even loved since childhood had not only betrayed her, but his own people and family as well.

She had by now accepted what had happened to Arthas, she had accepted what they had needed to do in order to save Azeroth, but that still didn't justify the sacrifices that had been made in order to get so far.

Tirion was dead, the adventurers that had helped them at the citadel were dead, they had even failed to save Bolvar, and somehow the scourge, even without its master, still remained. How could things have gone so wrong?

As she entered her chambers, her eyes almost instantly fixed on a small locked laying by her bed counter. They had found that locket after their battle with Arthas in a small chest. She had given him that locket when they were younger and it was the only proof that the Arthas she had loved had still been in there somewhere.

Jaina almost felt like tearing up just looking at the locket. She missed him, she missed her friend, she missed the one she, despite all that had happened, still loved. She missed his cocky smile, his handsome face and his greasy blond hair. But she knew that she would never see him again. Although they were never able to recover Arthas' body or Frostmourne, there was almost no doubt that he was dead. Jaina just hoped that he was finally at peace

But what Jaina didn't know was that on the other side of the world, in the eastern kingdoms, a certain man was having a nightmare. A man that by all means should be dead, but weren't.

Voices, ringing through his head. An endless stream of voices, many of them calling out in anger others in sorrow. There was nothing but a void. A cold void that could turn the bravest of men into shaking puppies just by thinking about it. There was nothing but darkness and the endless voices of the past. Eventually one voice sounded louder than the rest. It was a strong young male voice. It sounded familiar and yet not.

"This entire city must be purged."

He could feel his heart beating harder as the voice rang through the void. It sounded so cold, so angry. Another male voice sounded. It sounded older and more stern, yet compassionate. A flash of golden light rang through the void as it spoke.

"How can you even consider that? There's got to be some other way."

It was… Pleading the first voice and now he remembered who the voices belonged to but quickly forgot. It was so cold. The other voices became louder once more, out voluming the conversation between the two males. A dark laugh rang through the void and everything seemed to become white for a moment as more cold blue light passed through the void before it becoming dark once more. He could faintly see a human shape standing in the dark before the light disappeared. The voices became silent once more and the conversation continued, but this time, the golden light didn't appear.

"Treason? Have you lost your mind, Arthas?"

Arthas… That name sounded so familiar to him. It sounded important. Like something he shouldn't forget and yet the familiarity faded just as fast as it came as another wave of cold blue light washed over him. The shape was getting clearer.

"Have I? Lord Uther, by my right of succession and severignity of my crown, I hereby relieve you from your command and suspend your paladins from service."

More blue light washed over and he could faintly hear a dark voice laughing. The young voice sounded so angry, so absolute and yet… sad. A new voice sounded. It was female, young and sweet.

"Arthas, you can't just…"

The voice made his heart tingle and the void felt slightly warmer as it spoke. Distant memories resurged with it. Memories of young love that ended too quickly.

"Its done! Those of you who have the will to save this land, follow me. The rest of you… Get out of my sight.

Cold blue light filled the void completely, making it look like the entire void was ice. He knew what words were coming, but he didn't want to hear them. He knew he had lost everything he cared about that day. Anger and rage having taken its place, but it was too late to do anything about it. So he awaited the words of the voice that could have stopped him if only he had listened.

"Jaina?"

He could see her beautiful blond hair, the slim feminine body and her wizard robe in the void in front of him. Her back facing him.

"I'm sorry, Arthas. I can't watch you do this."

And then she was gone just as fast as she had appeared. It stung thinking about that day. If only things could have been different.

The cold blue light swirled and bent around as the dark laugh resumed. It made his heart feel cold and he could practically feel the ice forming around his nonexistent face. The human figure now becoming clearer. He could see the dark armor starting to form and it spoke.

"Did you really think you could escape?"

He could now see the crown and the cold blue eyes that emitted some kind of cold mist.

"No one escapes death."

The figure took a step forward and he could now see the long blade in his hand. The cursed blade that slaughtered the people of Lordaeron, created the greatest monster to ever walk Azeroth and the unimaginable power it possessed. Frostmourne. The figure raised the blade and now he could see the full figure and the terror it put in his heart. A figure he thought he would never see again. The Lich King. He swung Frostmourne towards him.

"No one escapes me."

Arthas gasped awake and sat up. His head was pounding with pain and he could also feel something clutching in his chest. It hurt and he knew what it was. He fought the urge to let a tear roll and laid down again. The day he slaughtered an entire city of people, it wasn't the fact he had killed so many that hurt, but more the words he had said to the love of his life, his mentor and their retaliating words. He rolled onto his side. The air was cold, but he didn't feel cold despite only wearing leather pants and boots. He looked around his makeshift home. It was a brown and dull colored tent barely big enough to house him. He was laying on a small blanket. Just big enough for him to lie on but not much else. He heard a metallic humming and sat up. In the corner of the tent laid a long hilted sword and a grey basic plate armor with a greathelm that completely covered the face. The humming seemed to be coming from the sword. Beside the armor and sword laid a brown ordinary backpack.

The sword and armor in itself were a basic grey in color and wasn't very special. The sword's hilt was covered with plain brown leather and the crossguard of it was as basic as it could get. It looked old and worn out.

Arthas sighed, leaned over and took the sword by the hilt in his hand. The instant his hand touched it, it felt cold and he could feel the magic and other things within pleading to be let out. He unsheathed it and sat up, looking at the blade. He gripped the handle tightly with both of his hands and it became ice cold. No other man could hold something so cold in his hands without dropping it. Arthas felt as if a thousand needles went through his fingers as the cold of the blade traveled through his hands and up his arms, making his hands lose their brown pink color and become a pale white.

He re-sheathed the sword and the color came back into his skin. He exited his tent and was greeted with the morning sun in his eyes. Arthas stood at his full height stretching his arms and back, several joints cracking. He gazed upon the somewhat pleasant sight before him.

He was in the Wetlands. The largest swamp in the whole Eastern kingdoms. Home of Dwarfs, humans and many other races, but mostly the ones mentioned. It was known for being a dangerous land with Raptors, crocolisks and many other dangers prowling through the swamp, looking for prey. Arthas had set up camp with his back against the ocean. It was a risky place to set up camp with the many things that wanted to eat whatever they found, but it was nice and isolated. Just what he wanted. The rays of the sun reflecting into a sea of colors on the many watery surfaces around him. The green grass and the refreshing wind blowing through his long blond hair. It was nice.

He spotted a ship in the distance. It was an ordinary Alliance transporting ship. It brought back memories looking at it. Unfortunately, they weren't happy memories.

He put his focus back on the task at hand. Packed up his things and strapped on his armor and sword. He looked cautiously at the remaining item on the ground. The backpack. Arthas could feel a beating coming from it, drawing him to open it, but he wouldn't. He took on the backpack, put on his helmet and began to walk through the marsh.

"That dream…" Arthas muttered to himself in a pained tone. He had been having nightmares for what felt like months but in truth only came once every few weeks. But out of all the nightmares it had to be that one. He felt a slight aching in his chest. That day in Stratholme was what started his path and now it had hopefully ended. But despite all that had happened, all that he had done, he had been given a second chance. Somehow, he was still alive. He didn't know whether to be thankful or curse whatever gods had allowed him to live.

Now he just had to see where life would take him. But there was one thing he knew for certain, for him, there would be no redemption.


	2. Not the Luckiest of Days

Arthas let out an annoyed grunt as he continued walking down the swampy road. The sun was glaring down at him and making his armor feel like a boiling hot cage. To make matters even worse, insects were swarming around him and were just being annoying in general. Arthas could feel his chainmail and plating starting to stick to his muscular body from all of his sweating. It was uncomfortable but nothing he hadn't tried before. And as much he wanted to take his helmet off, he knew that he couldn't. He couldn't let anyone see his face.

It was times like these that, despite his former actions there, made him miss the cold of Northrend. The cold was simple. Either you could resist its icy grip, or you could succumb to it. Out of reflex he grabbed his sword hilt, but quickly let go of it as he realised what he was doing. He couldn't let it guide him, control him.

Looking up, Arthas saw where his path was leading. Towards a port town at the edge of the sea. Arthas internally sweared at his discovery. He wanted to stay away from people at all costs. He glanced back and saw that the sun was on its way down. He looked around, trying to find a place to set up camp, but there was only a big swamp. No places to set up camp but the road he was standing and that was too risky. The chance of getting discovered was much higher if he laid in the middle of a road rather than amongst the wilderness.

Arthas sighed deeply at his only remaining option. _Fate is cruel it seems, but it isn't anything I don't deserve._ He thought and began walking once more towards the port city.

As he approached he began to notice how moldy the gate and walls were. Over the gate he could see a clock tower and the spires of a barracks. It was probably used as the military base of operations. It also looked old and moldy. Arthas cracked a small smile under his helmet. _With any luck, the city's abandoned_.

He entered through the gates and immediately he noticed that the city was, despite its looks, buzzing with dwarves and humans in many ages. Most were on their way indoors as it was getting dark. Arthas looked flatly around the city. It contained the barracks he noticed from outside, a smithy, some buildings and a dock. To his displeasure, he couldn't spot an inn anywhere.

"Welcome ta Menethil harbor."

The sound of the sudden male voice almost made Arthas jump, but he instead turned his head and body saw noticed a dwarf with long brown beard and a pipe in his mouth grinning mockingly at Arthas with him sitting with his his back against a tree. _Wait, Menethil?_

"Wait, what did you say?" Arthas asked bewildered. Surely he must have heard wrong.

"Ah said 'Welcome ta Menethil Harbor' ya deaf or somethin?" The dwarf answered and stood up from his sitting position.

"My apologies, I just thought that you said something else." Arthas answered, his eyes cast towards the ground in thought. _Menethil Harbor… Fate really is cruel._

"It's all right lad." The dwarf said while waving his arm dismissively. "Quite a few travelers have been confused 'bout our city name. Probably because of that monster who dared to call himself a Menethil." The dwarfs eyes darkened as he finished his sentence.

Arthas gulped instinctively at the dwarfs words although he knew that the dwarf was right.

"But enough 'bout that depressing matter. The lich king's dead and he better stay that way." The dwarf continued, his smile having returned. He stuck out his hand. "Name's Balmond Coldfall, what's yours?"

"Uhh…" Arthas said and tried to come up with something. This dwarf was the second person he had talked to in the last three months and he hadn't come up with a name for such an occasion. He then remembered something that had happened when he had first taken on the helm of domination or his 'crown' as he had come to call it. He remembered a boy. A boy who had represented his humanity, although that was all he could remember from that day. He couldn't remember anything else after he took on the crown which was odd. What was the boy called? Something Matthias. "Matthias Lehner." He replied and shook the dwarfs hand.

"Matthias Lehner…" Balmond repeated. "A mighty odd name ya got there, lad." He said and let go of Arthas' hand.

Arthas didn't have comment on that.

"So tell me 'Matthias'" Balmond said, his eyes inspecting Arthas. "What brings ya ta Menethil Harbor? Judging from ya appearance, I'd say ya be goin ta war."

"I'm just traveling through." Arthas answered.

"Oh, you be going to theramore?"

"Theramore?"

Balmond looked oddly at him. "Yes, ya know, stronghold of lady Jaina Proudmoore on Kalimdor?"

 _Jaina?_ He was almost tempted to say yes, but caught himself in the act. There was no way he could go to Theramore, no matter how much he wanted to see her. _She's better off without me._ "No, Balmond, I was actually on my way to the Arathi Highlands, but got lost and ended here. And now i'm looking for the inn to stay overnight."

"Why didn't ya just say so?" Balmond laughed. "Ma cousin owns the inn 'ere, i'll show you where it is. Come on." He said and began walking through the city.

Arthas couldn't help but crack a smile at the dwarfs willingness to help despite him being a complete stranger. It was nice to see that even after his escapades in Northrend, the citizens of Azeroth were still as helpful as ever. So without further thoughts he quickly followed pursuit.

* * *

 _ ***Knock* *Knock***_

"Lady Proudmoore!"

Jaina jerked awake at the sound of the door to her chambers getting pounded. She was tired and wanting nothing more than go back to sleep, but it seemed this wasn't a day to rest. She sat up. "Yes?"

"Highlord Darion Mograine has come here and requests your presence."

 _Mograine?_ Jaina's eyes widened. How and why was the highlord of the knights of the ebonblade in Theramore? She quickly stepped out of her bed, combed her hair, put on her wizard robe, grabbed her staff and exited her chambers and began walking down and out of her tower. And surely enough stood Darion Mograine in the yard, wearing a hood, followed by two other hooded Death knights. But there was something off about them, although she couldn't place it.

Jaina approached while eyeing the three death knight cautiously. The Death knights had been the Lich kings elite soldiers and were still feared among their respective faction. "Highlord, what brings you to Theramore?" She asked while still eyeing them.

Darion took a breath to answer but broke into a coughing fit and almost fell over in the process. Thats when Jaina noticed it. The death knight's normal icy blue eyes were flicking back to their normal green color with each cough and he seemed to be sweating, which should be impossible.

He eventually stopped coughing and looked back at Jaina with his icy eyes. "We have a problem." He said, his normally dark echoing voice sounding ragged and weak.

"Yes I can see that." Jaina replied, still looking over the death knight. "What is happening with you and the other death knights?"

"With the frozen throne broken, our power is disappearing."

Jaina wasn't shocked by this reveal. The frozen throne was the Lich kings source of power and it would make sense that the death knights was losing their power as a result. "Is there anything I can do to help you?"

Darion's icy eyes looked right through Jaina's eyes and into her soul. She suddenly felt very cold. "No and we don't want your help." He replied.

Jaina raised an eyebrow at his words. "Then why are you here?"

"I am here because we have made a discovery in Northrend." He answered. "We thought that with the frozen throne broken, we the knights of the Ebonblade, could finally have peace, but it seems that this is not the case."

Jaina was confused. This didn't make any sense. The death knights should have died with the destruction of the frozen throne but they hadn't been. The legions of undead that had served the lich king had disappeared and so had the val'kyr, presumably they had simply died or returned to being bones.

"The frozen throne is rebuilding."

Jaina's eyes widened at his words. It shouldn't be possible. The lich king was dead. His crown and sword, gone. How was the frozen throne rebuilding? "That can't be possible." She simply answered.

"But it is." Darion replied, his icy eyes not wavering.

"How?"

"I do not know."

* * *

"Here we are, lad, tha Drunken Rats inn!" Balmond announced proudly as he stopped before a large building.

Arthas eyed the building before him with slight disgust, luckily because of his helmet, it didn't show. The building was old, covered in mold and smelled of vomit, mead and other things I won't care to mention. It wasn't luxurious, but he didn't want anything like that either. For all he cared, he could sleep in a pig sti.

"Well, come on!" Balmond called and proceeded inside, Arthas following closely behind.

The inside of the inn was more pleasant. It was one big room filled with wooden tables and chairs. In the end of the room was a fireplace brightly lighting up the inn together with some candles all around the inn. On the side was a bar with barstools. And the inn was filled with laughter, arguments and people. Humans, dwarfs, and even a few night elves who sat by themselves. There was also a big cluster of people sitting in the edge of the inn, occupying four tables. Some of them were wearing red mask that covered the lower side of their faces.

"Hey cousin!" Balmond called and a big female dwarf in the bar turned around at the sound of his voice.

"Balmond!" She greeted as soon as she saw him. "What brings ya to the inn? It isn't midnight yet, did ya get yerself inta trouble again?"

Balmond merely laughed and shook his head. "No, no, ah was just guidin this lad-" He pointed behind him to Arthas. "-To yer inn. He needs a room fer da night."

Arthas walked up to the bar. "Good evening ma'am." He greeted.

"Quite the charmer ya found, Balmond." The barmaid laughed. "My name's Nysotin Steelstone."

"I'm Matthias Lehner."

Nysotin raised an eyebrow. "What a weird name ya got there."

Balmond laughed and slapped Arthas on his lower back. "That what I told him."

"So ya want ta rent a room for tha night?"

"Yes, ma'am." Arthas replied.

"Great, that'll be eighty silvers a night plus twenty if ya want breakfast in tha mornin." Nysotin stuck out her weirdly muscular arm and waited for Arthas to give her the money.

Arthas took off his backpack and opened it close to himself to make sure no one could see what he had in it. His heart felt colder as he opened and looked at the item it contained. He felt an odd presence as he stared at the item. He wanted to take it out.. But quickly shook off the feelings the item was giving him and took out his point of interest in the backpack. A large sack of coins. He took out a single gold coin and put it down on the bar table. The coins in his sack clinked and the sound resonated through the bar and caught the eyes of the people sitting in the corner of the inn as he put it back into his backpack.

Before Arthas could even react, he was pulled down to the bar counter by Balmond. "Lad, ya gotta be careful with ya money 'round here." He whispered. "'round these parts it doesn't take a lot ta drive people ta hurt each other for a bit of gold."

"Pffft… There's an understatement if I ever heard one." Nysotin commented and received a quick glare from Balmond

Arthas nodded. "I understand."

Balmond smiled. "Now with that outta tha way, sit down, take ya helmet off and let me buy ya a drink."

Arthas was tempted to do as the dwarf said. He longed after the days where he would drink and have fun, but those days were long gone. "I'm sorry Balmond, but I can't."

The dwarf looked a little saddened by Arthas' response, but his smile quickly returned. "Alright, lad, see ya tomorrow then."

"Catch!" Nysotin yelled.

Arthas was caught offguard but caught the keys that were being thrown to him anyway.

"Ya room's is upstairs first room on ya right." She said and pointed towards a staircase near at the edge of the inn.

"Thanks." Arthas said and began walking towards the stairs. He didn't get far as two male humans wearing red masks stepped in front of him.

"Going somewhere?" The one on the left asked with crossed arms.

Suddenly four other thugs surrounded him, two of them being dwarves.

The same thug that had gotten in his way took a step forward and revealed a nasty curved dagger and pressed it up against Arthas' breastplate. "That backpack sure looks heavy, why don't you let us take it off your shoulders?"

A hand reached out behind him and took a hold of the backpack and threatened to rip it off Arthas' back.

Arthas reached for his sword and was met with four more daggers clinking against his armor.

"There's no need for that." The apparent leader in front of him said. "Just give us the backpack and no one has to get hurt."

"Oh come on, fellas!" Balmond yelled from his barstool. "Leave the lad alone!"

"Shut it you old goat!" One of the four around Arthas yelled at Balmond to which Balmond scowled but kept in his seat.

Arthas tensed up. He couldn't let them get that backpack no matter the cost, but for now he had no choice. He slided of the backpack into the dwarf who had grabbed it earlier grasp and as soon as it made contact with his arms, Arthas pulled back his left elbow with all the force he could muster.

A loud crack and a scream sounded through the inn as Arthas' elbow made contact with the dwarfs nose and at that moment, everything went to hell.

Three of Arthas' assaulters tried to jab their daggers through his armor, but they repelled off as if it was a shield. Arthas took their moment of confusion to hit another on the side of his head with his gauntlet and took a large step back whereafter he pulled out his sword from its socket. The grey blade stood tall in Arthas' grasp, both his hands clasped around it grip. It felt heavy, but most of all, it felt cold.

More men, dwarfs and a even a few night elves in red masks stood up from their tables in the corners and slowly surrounded Arthas. Anyone who wasn't involved fled the inn except Balmond and Nysotin who were both now standing behind the bar, ready to take cover from any debris or spells.

The leader among the red hooded snorted. "You will pay for that with your blood."


	3. Cold

The sun had gone down in Theramore and stars were starting to come out. The Death knights had left, going back to Northrend and would update if any significant change happened. Jaina had sent a letter to Varian Wrynn, the king of Stormwind and an old friend of hers. She had been stuck in her library all day, trying to figure something out about the frozen throne or the demon magic that had created it. Unsurprisingly, she had come up empty handed and was now looking over the ocean from a window in her tower clutching her locket in her hand.

"It looks like it will never end." She said, talking to no one but herself as she gazed at the slowly appearing stars. She looked down at her locket and grazed it affectionately with her thumb. "I had hoped it would end with you being gone…But it looks like your legacy continues to live on."

She began clutching the locket tighter, so much that it was beginning to hurt. "I wish I could have stopped you that day. Perhaps I didn't try hard enough? I guess i'll never know…" Jaina stayed silent after that. It still hurt her, he was still hurting her even though he was gone. Minutes went by without Jaina even moving as much as a muscle.

A light began to shine behind her, and she instinctively turned around. A white light shone before her and she stuck out a hand beneath it and as she did, a letter began to materialise in the light before going out, the letter landing in Jaina's hand.

Jaina sat down on her bed and turned the letter. I wore the blue crest of Stormwind. She slowly opened it and read it.

 _Jaina, this is not only the first batch of bad news I have gotten today, but it certainly raises many questions. We have been tracking the scourge movement in Northrend since the shattering of the frozen throne and exactly seven hours after it shattered, all scourge activity in Northrend seized. The next thing we knew, they were all gone, but we are starting to find out where all of the undead went._

 _Yesterday, I received a report from Brann Bronzebeard of the Explorers' guild. He wrote that he had delved down into the ancient cities of the Nerubians beneath the surface of Northrend and had been scouring them for the last three weeks when he made a discovery beneath the surface of Icecrown. Trails of bones and enormous gates were beneath it as far as his eyes could see and he thinks that the undead are on the other sides of these gates. But why would the undead march underneath the nerubian cities? Especially with their master dead? With him dead they should all have been reduced to lifeless bones or they should have regained control of their bodies like the forsaken. This only leaves us with one conclusion and I dread even writing it.-_

Jaina dropped the letter with a gasp and ran out of her room, seeking her guards and wanting to notify Thrall and the mages of Dalaran.

The letter fell to the floor, it's back against the floor and revealing the last sentence of the letter. A sentence that could bring most of Azeroth to its knees with fear.

 _The Lich King is still alive._

* * *

Time seemed to stand still as Arthas stood there, sword clutched in his hands, surrounded by a gang of thugs. Yet the longer Arthas stood there, the colder the sword in his hands felt.. He could feel himself starting to sweat as the cold slowly advanced up his arms, giving them a pale white color. _Come on, Come on!_ He thought, wanting the thugs to attack him. He had to end this as quickly as possible.

Finally one of the thugs behind Arthas charged him with a yell, a short sword as his weapon. Arthas was quick to react as he turned on his feet and punched his assailant in the face with his gauntlet. But this first thug was the start of a chain reaction for after him more approached.

The second fell as Arthas hit him with the flat of his blade. The third from a headbutt against the back of his nose. But they kept coming.

Arthas swept his blade through the air in front of him, making several of the thugs take a step back, and began searching for a way out. _I can't fight them all_. It was at times like this that he wished that he was still connected to the light. He began glancing through the darkened inn for a way out, but there were thugs all around him and they were forcing him into a corner. The ones he had knocked to the floor was beginning to stir and now Arthas noticed the thugs had a man in a red robe chanting in the background as a serene golden light flew from his finger. Arthas groaned, _Great they have a priest. Can this get any worse?_ Just as he finished that thought, another thug charged him, this one was big, taller and bulkier than Arthas himself, he had both shield and sword.

Arthas was swept his sword through the air after his oncoming foe, but the thug simply parried with his shield and stabbed out after Arthas with his sword. Arthas barely managed to dodge and the sword made contact with the wall behind him. The bulky thug tried to pull out his sword only to realise it was stuck in the wooden wall.

 _Now's my chance!_ Arthas brought up his sword, prepared to impale his foe on it through his exposed side, but he stopped himself, remembering what the sword would do if the blade penetrated the man's skin. He didn't care for the thug's life, but he cared about maintaining his cover. So instead of impaling the thug, Arthas took a step forward, used the thug's momentary confusion as his focus was on his sword stuck inside the wall, and gave the thug a well placed hit with the hilt of his sword right between the thug's eyes, the thug falling backwards and collapsing on the floor.

Arthas breathed heavily, he was starting to get tired, but he kept his sword high in case of more men charging him. The thugs around him took a step back as they stared at their fallen comrade. Arthas smirked behind his helmet, but then a realisation hit him. He couldn't feel his arms, they were so cold and it was starting to spread across his chest. _No, this is happening too soon!_ Him being caught up in his mind didn't notice the sudden light appearing in the middle of the inn, nor the ball of fire that came at him before it hit him square in the stomach, throwing him against the wall behind him, knocking the air out of him and making him drop his sword.

His vision seemed blurry as he wheezed desperately to get air back into his lungs. Then a man stepped forward. It was the same thug that had ordered him to give up his backpack and its contents, his left hand was smoking and embers were falling to the floor as he shook his hand.

The thug leader snorted behind his red hood and knelt down, ripping off Arthas' backpack. "You should have given us the backpack while you had the chance. Now I will take both it and your life."

Arthas simply kept wheezing for air. He was starting to get some air into them and he reached out for his sword on the ground, only to have taken up by the thug leader who began inspecting it.

"This is a good sword, if a little worn out." He said and began to take a few practice swings. "Perfectly well balanced, sharp and surprisingly light for its size." He looked back at Arthas with interest. "Where did you get it?"

Arthas answered with a coughing fit.

The leader rolled his eyes. "I guess it doesn't matter." He snapped his fingers and two thugs stepped forward and picked up Arthas by the arms, but only enough to keep control while he was still on his knees. "Take off his helmet, I want to see his face before I kill him with his own sword." A dwarf, who were also wearing a red mask, stepped forward and took off Arthas' helmet, his face mostly covered by his long golden hair.

Behind the bar counter, both Balmond and Nysotin was looking out onto the madness that was happening in the inn. It was a pretty rare sight to see so many having to gang up on a single man just to take him down. Even going so far as to use magic.

"By Magni's beard, ah can't watch." Nysotin said, going back down beneath the counter.

Balmond kept looking. "There's somethin familiar about the lad's face, but I can't remember..." He muttered.

"Empty it." The leader threw the backpack over his shoulder.

A thug caught it and began rummaging through it, an odd look appearing on his face as he got ahold of something large inside of it.

Arthas was finally beginning to get air to his lungs. He looked up at the leader with gritted teeth. He knew that the end was near. Not only was he going to die to a gang of worthless thugs, he was also going to lose two of the most powerful weapons that had ever existed on Azeroth. A sudden anger ignited inside of him and despite not holding his sword, the cold was still spreading through his body. He was going to fail. _No, never again…_

"You just had to defy us, didn't you?" The leader stood tall before Arthas and smirked maliciously behind his mask.

The thug who had gotten ahold of the backpack took out the item he had found inside and he almost dropped from shaking as he recognised it. It was a helmet made of a dark metal, spikes on the top of it, a cold blue gem above the forehead and it ice cold. Almost everyone on Azeroth had come to know that crown in the past few years. "C-captain?" He stuttered lowly, having trouble keeping a newfound fear in check.

The captain who held Arthas' sword, didn't hear the thug's stuttering. But he yelled throughout the inn. "Let this be a lesson to everyone who refuses to 'cooperate' with the Defias Brotherhood!" He then looked back to Arthas, who was looking to the and stabbed out the sword against Arthas' throat.

Time seemed to slow down as the sword traveled through the air. The defias captain was looking towards where he estimated the sword would hit. Just below his targets adamsapple. The captain could hear one of his thugs yelling behind him, but he didn't care. He craved to see this idiot who had dared to stand against him and his men's blood on the floor and him slowly getting choked on it. Then suddenly, he began feeling as if needles were going through his fingers, a sudden pain arose in his hands, but he kept thrusting the sword towards his adversary and with every centimeter, the pain in his hands got stronger tenfold. His target slowly looked up at him, and the captain felt as his heart was turning to ice. His target's eyes were ice blue, emitting a cold and unnatural mist.

A loud scream sounded through the inn as the captain's hands suddenly shattered like glass and the sword fell, hilt first, in an upwards motion through the air. The men who held Arthas were paralysed by the sudden events happening before them and instinctively loosened their grips.

Arthas took this opportunity to swiftly getting out of their grips by ripping his arms through the air and catching his sword, whereafter he thrusted it through the defias captain who died the instant the sword made contact with his chest.

A satisfied sizzle came from the sword as Arthas pulled it out of the captain and turned to the two who had held him, who were now regaining their composure and were drawing out their blades, but it was already too late.

The sound of metal rang through the air as Arthas turned and sliced the throat on the first one, the second got the sword run through his gut. Another sizzle came for each who tasted Arthas' sword. Some could even swear they heard whispers come from it as it pierced the second thug.

Arthas pulled the sword out of the second thug and turned towards the rest of them, who all cautiously took a step back.

Before their eyes, Arthas armor and sword began to change appearance. The grey dull armor turned dark blue, almost black, all of it decorated with skulls and spikes, fur boots, a black silken cape and then there was the sword. The temperature in the inn seemed to drop dramatically as it transformed in a cold blue light. The fireplace died out and so did all of the candles, the only light source was the light from the Defias priest and the unholy glow of the sword. All of the thugs took several more steps back as they all recognised the sword. A dark steel colored sword with unholy runes that stretched down the blade, a hilt that could be the source of one's worst nightmares, decorated with a dragon's skull at the start of the blade with curved horns that stretched across the crossguard.

Balmond's eyes widened and he dove beneath the bar to join Nysotin. He shook his head in disbelief. "No, it can't be…" Nysotin looked oddly at him, but kept beneath the bar, wanting to stay out of the conflict that was about to arise.

Arthas smiled maliciously as he raised his sword towards the one holding his crown, the color having completely drained from his face and turned his hair white. And then he spoke with a voice that was much different from what it usually was. It was dark, malicious, and downright evil. "Frostmourne Hungers…"


	4. Death's Dance

Screams.

Begs.

Metal slicing through flesh.

An unnatural cold in the air.

There was no escaping.

Arthas' vision was nothing but a blur of white, blue and red. He could hear nothing but a howling wind in his ears and drowned screams. His movements were automatic, almost mechanical as he moved. There was no control, no mercy. He could feel himself gripping something in his hands, slicing it through the air, and a sizzle following its movement. It was strange. Familiar, but strange. He felt glee, although he was not sure of what he was doing.

Something warm hit his cheek. It felt like water, but it was thicker. It took no longer than a second for the warmth it brought his face to disappear, as if it had never existed.

A short laugh escaped his throat. He didn't know why, and at the moment, he didn't care. He felt a sense of accomplishment, almost happiness in what he was doing, although he was still unsure of what that exactly was. Without resisting, he let the movements continue, the item still in hand. Occasionally it felt as if he hit something with the item, but it was barely noticeable. Every time it felt as if he hit something, he just swung the item harder, feeling a certain glee every time it made contact.

His eyes fell upon a sudden bright light appearing before him, it making the white, red and blue disappear if for but a moment. Suddenly the light went through Arthas' body, a burning sensation following almost like electricity as it went through every corner of his being, replacing Arthas' glee with anger.

Changing movements, Arthas almost leaped in the light's direction and thrust the item in his hands into its source, the light going out like a candle and being replaced by a cold blue and white. It made him smile.

"A-ah won't let you hurt us, ya hear!"

The voice was familiar to Arthas' ears and it stopped him from doing his strange movements. His vision was still blurry, but he was starting to make out shapes. He could see brown wooden panels, broken tables and many various colored shapes laying on the floor, a deep red puddle accompanying most of them.

"Nysotin, get out of 'ere while ya still can!"

Another familiarity. A name. But it didn't matter. He began walking in a slow but decisive manner towards the voice, the item resting in one of his hands, pained whispers sounding from it.

"Ah won't leave ya, Balmond!"

Another familiar voice, this one female. Feeling a sudden tug in his free hand, Arthas gave in to it. It felt as if electricity was going through his open hand as it rose into the air in the direction of the voices as if he was holding someone by the throat. Black and purple twisted light emanated from his fingers in the direction of the female voice.

A sudden gasp escaped the female and her voice was drowned out and was replaced by sounds of choking.

"Nysotin!"

Closing his hand into a fist, Arthas heard a disgusting crunch and the female went silent. He lowered his hand and a shape fell to the ground like a sack of potatoes.

His vision was clearing up. He could see people with red masks splayed across the ground, ice having spread throughout the inn, making it seem completely devoid of life. And then there was of course the target he was advancing towards. It was a dwarf with a long brown beard wearing a white shirt and brown dirty pants. He was holding a lifeless shape the size of himself, but the shape's neck was bended weirdly out of place. The dwarf was sobbing, letting tears fall into his cousin's shoulder as he held her tight as if for dear life.

Arthas' inner eyes widened as he finally recognised the dwarf. _Balmond?_

"Damn you…" The dwarf snarled, letting go of his cousin and grabbing a long kitchen knife on the bar counter.

 _What is happening? No, Balmond don't!_ His thoughts went unheard as Arthas' body kept moving on its own through his own deepest and darkest desires.

"Damn you, ya frozen DEMON!" The dwarf screamed and ran with all of his fury towards Arthas.

 _Balmond stop!_ But it was already too late.

 _ ***Shunk!***_

The kitchen knife fell to the floor.

The blur completely disappeared from Arthas' eyes and allowed him to see just what he had done. What he had let himself do.

The former peaceful and happy inn was nothing but a shadow of its former self. Corpses were spread across the floor, almost every table and chair were in shambles. Red stains of blood covered the walls and most of the floor with ice decorating every inch of the inn. There was a biting cold in the air, and Arthas could see his own breath being visible every time he exhaled. And then of course there was Nysotin. Arthas' stomach dropped as he saw her grey lifeless body, her neck having been broken and bending in a twisted and disgusting way.

"Heh…"

Arthas looked up to see the friendly dwarf that had tried to befriend him and even wanting to buy him a drink impaled on his twisted runeblade. Arthas could feel his hands starting to shake as he looked at the dwarf, who was oddly enough smiling.

Balmond coughed up blood and looked at the knight before him in disgust. "Ah hope...there's a...s-special place in hell waiting for ya, you monster…" As a last signature of hate, Balmond tried to spit on Arthas, but fell short. The dwarf exhaled one final time before the runeblade sizzled once more and a white fog disappeared into it.

A loud ringing appeared in Arthas' ears as he drew the runeblade out of the corpse of the dead dwarf before letting it fall to the ground.

His breath was ragged and he was shaking beyond belief. Time seemed to slow down as Arthas took in everything that had happened. The blur from his earlier vision disappeared from his memories and he saw clearly what had happened. He had mercilessly slaughtered every single living being in the inn with a smile on his lips.

Falling to his knees, Arthas felt his throat close as every action he had taken took shape in his head.

Slicing.

Impaling.

Calling upon Frostmourne's unholy power to freeze every exit.

Decapitating.

Dismembering.

Killing.

Slaughtering.

Harvesting.

A loud beating went through his chest, drowning out all sound other than the ringing and a single tear fell from his eyes as he accepted the cruel reality of things. He looked to his hands, noticing they were shaking in their gloves and he couldn't help but look over the gauntlets, the breastplate, the dark armor he was wearing and the guise of his white long hair in front of his face.

His eyes once again fell on the runeblade lying close to Balmond's body, the blade itself covered in blood, a long crack being across its surface. With a shaky sigh, he picked it up and sheathed it.

Doing his utmost to ignore the guilt gnawing in his mind, Arthas looked around the inn until he found the backpack, his crown and his grey dull helmet. The crown rested in his hand as he looked it over. A dark desire welled within him, only getting stronger every time he looked at that dark helmet. He backpacked the crown, and placed the grey helmet on his head before looking towards the frozen exit and walking towards it with quick mournful steps.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Sorry it has been so long since the last chapter. I've been busy to say the least.


	5. No Sorrow, No Rest

The stench of rotten meat and other things engulfed Jaina's nostrils as she appeared in Menethil Harbor. Although it was nothing compared to what she had smelled in the dark days of Lordaeron, it was still foul.

Surrounding the inn in front of her was a small force of dwarves and a few humans in guard armor, talking and inspecting the building, a few of them visibly gagging and running to the sea with green faces as they exited the inn.

It had been a little over two days since the alarming letter had arrived from king Varian. In that time, Jaina has had a short meeting with Thrall about the situation. Understandably, Thrall had not been happy with the news, but not entirely shocked either. Despite it, one thing had become very clear very fast, they could not let that news slip out into the public, neither alliance or horde. The panic and public outrage it could cause was frightening to think about. But Thrall had still told her that he would assemble a small force of Kor'kron guards to try and track the lich king down, and Jaina was sure king Varian had already done the same thing. Although they would never admit it, Thrall and Varian were much alike in some aspects.

A blue light ignited behind Jaina and up beside her walked a female gnome with bright pink hair bound in two ponytails, wearing a wizard's robe. The gnome barely had time to breathe before she experienced for the first time the smell of rotting corpses and she nearly gagged. "Ugh, Yuck!"

Jaina couldn't help but smile in pity at her apprentice. She wasn't very happy about letting her apprentice join her, but that little gnome was quite difficult to handle at times and was very hard to dissuade of anything. "Are you sure you don't want to go back to Theramore, Kinndy? The smell won't get any better."

Kinndy looked back at her mentor with a deadpan, before smiling widely. "Nah, I'm good."

"Okay, but don't say I didn't warn you."

This morning, Jaina received a letter from king Magni requesting her help on a matter regarding a strange massacre that had happened in the Wetlands and hoped that maybe she or some other Kirin tor mage could help shed some light on it. Although Jaina had been tempted to just relay the letter to Dalaran, she had decided to go herself.

Walking towards the scene, there was a few things Jaina noticed. She noticed that several of the dwarves were shooting her strange glances, and her apprentice even more so.

As they reached the inn, one of the Dwarves gave a polite bow. "Ah, Lady Proudmoore, thank ye for comin."

"I wish it could be under better circumstances," Jaina said as another wave of thick stench washed over her like a warm breeze. It made her skin crawl.

"Hah! No kiddin," the dwarf said and then noticed the gnome beside her. "Well well, and who might just you be?"

"Kinnda Sparkshine," the gnome held out a hand with a big smile.

"She's my apprentice," Jaina clarified.

"Huh, I see. Pleasure ta meet ya, Kinnda!" The hairy dwarf shook the gnome's hand. "Although you're gonna wish ya stayed in Theramore. This is one of the more ugly scenes Ah've seen over the years." Gesturing for them to follow, the dwarf entered the dark inn.

As Jaina entered, something strange happened. The thick and warm air of the swamp disappeared as she went through the doorframe and was replaced cold air that threatened to freeze her lungs. Ice crunched beneath her boots as she took steps, resembling the sounds of walking on skulls. It was all unnerving and her heart was already starting to beat faster as they proceeded into the barely lit inn that despite it seemed dark as the grave.

"Watch yer step," the dwarf warned, "or you might step on someone."

"S-someone?" Kinnda gulped.

Following the dwarf to the best of their ability, the apprentice and mentor became more and more alarmed. Everything was unnatural inside of the inn. Jaina could see her cold breath in front of her as she walked, it in her eyes resembling tormented faces crying out to her.

"C-couldn't you have brought a torch or something?" Kinndy yelled, her voice echoing through the inn as if it was a small cave.

"Bringing a light wouldn't give the same kind of dramatic effect!" The dwarf laughed. "And you're mages for Magni's sake. If yer really wanted ta see, you woulda ignited a light by now.

That thought hadn't even struck Jaina until the dwarf said it. But nevertheless, she lifted her hand and a small ball of fire materialised.

A loud gasp escaped Jaina's apprentice as they could all now see the massacre in all of its icy glory.

The inn was covered in a small layer of dark blue ice that had manifested itself in small icy spikes protruding from the floor. Too small to hurt anyone but unnerving none the less as they also covered the many mutilated corpses that laid spread across the floor of the inn, covering most of it.

"Well... at least the smell is gone," Kinndy said, trying to light the mood, but to zero effect.

"What could have done this?" Jaina kneeled down and caressed the ice covering one of the corpses. But even so, Jaina couldn't feel the ice melting beneath her warm fingers. It simply remained as if untouched.

"Well, we have a few theories," the dwarf said. "Most of them include mages."

"Mages? Why mages? What about Death knights? They could have done this as well!" Kinndy said, a little offended by the dwarf's words.

"Already been there, tuts," the dwarf replied. "But we have confirmation from Lord Mograine that no Death Knight's were around the Wetlands yesterday."

"Pfft as if the word of a Death Knight is worth anything," Kinnda mumbled.

"Darion also told us that even his most powerful Death Knights wouldn't be able ta do this, but a mage could."

"Not unless you know any mages that uses swords to defend themselves," Jaina inputted as she examined a corpse.

"Aye, it is weird."

"What is weird is not the massacre, or the sword wounds on the bodies. It's the magic," Jaina concluded.

"What do you mean, Jaina?" Kinndy asked.

"How many frost mages do you know who's ice persists through the night and withstands the heat of the sun?"

"Uhhh, none?" Kinndy shrugged.

"Exactly, that's what's weird."

"That I don't know any good frost mages?"

"No, that the ice doesn't melt…" Jaina said, ignoring the last comment of her apprentice.

Summoning a large ball of fire in her hand, Jaina kneeled down and put it close to the ice and as she suspected, it had almost no effect.

"Told ya it was strange," the dwarf said. "But all of these probably had it coming. They're all from the defias brotherhood," the dwarf got his eye on two small bodies sitting against the frozen pieces of a bar counter. One with its neck broken in a brutal way and the other having a large hole in his chest and blood around his mouth, his dead eyes staring into the room. The dwarf's head drooped. "Well, 'cept for those two." With that, the dwarf left the inn, his steps crunching behind him.

Suddenly curious, Jaina walked over to the two dwarf corpses and began to inspect them.

"Yeah, I'll just...well, unless I get out now, I'll be having the second meeting with my breakfast today." With those words, the gnome ran outside.

Jaina stayed with the corpses and kept inspecting them. She was especially interested in the one with the broken neck. A mage couldn't do that, but a Death knight might. Touching the corpse, a sinister feeling ran through Jaina's hand and memories surged through her mind. Memories of a night in Northrend. In a place called the halls of reflection. There she had faced Arthas, hoping she could draw the man she had once loved out of the monster that had engulfed him, but it was no use and she almost died for those foolish dreams.

Suddenly, Jaina found her shaky hands around her own neck and she could feel it. The grasp that had almost killed her that night, summoned with unholy magic from the fingertips of the lich king himself.

Her eyes went wide as the pieces fell together. No knight of the ebon blade could cause this, but the lich king's champion could with ease. _It can't be._

* * *

 _Can you feel it, my son? Closing in all around you? The light's justice has been awakened once more. The champions of the past are coming for you. Old friends and enemies alike. Soon you will be called to account to everything you've done. For the countless atrocities you have committed, and the horrors you've let loose on this world. There's fire in the horizon, my son. What will you do?_

A loud gasp sounded as Arthas awoke from his slumber. What happened? Where am I? But a single thought came to mind. Father? Had it been a nightmare tormenting him, or was it really his father's voice?

Slowly, he lifted his head from the mud that had seeped through the cracks in his helmet and looked upon the morning sun. Groaning from the extra mud weight, Arthas ever so slowly fought himself onto his legs and was instantly met with an earsplitting headache that almost knocked him over once more, but was luckily caught by something holding against his back and clinking against his armor.

Turning from the sharp sun, his eyes adjusted and fixed upon the remains of what had caught him. It was a small stone bridge railing, just tall enough to reach lower side of his back. He also caught a look of what might have happened if the railing hadn't caught him. At least a forty foot drop into water. Looking around, Arthas got a full scale of the bridge. Stone and metal. Wide enough to support the weight of warmachines roll across. Arthas instantly recognised the workmanship of the dwarves. But even for the dwarves, the bridge was unusual. In truth it was two large stone bridges that had almost the exact same start and end. The bridges had been built as a pathway between two lands divided by mountains and cliffs.

Not exactly sure of where he was, Arthas looked to each side of the bridge. In one end there was marshes and swamp that even from Arthas' position still stenched in his nostrils, but on the other side there were grass, plains and mountains in the distance. The headache made it hard to focus, but he did recognise the first one as the Wetlands.

Ah hope there's a special place in hell waiting for ya.

Another thump went through his head like a hammer on glass and it all came back to him. The slaughter at the drunken rats inn, killing two genuinely nice people who had tried to help him, his stumbling out of the inn, grabbing a horse from the nearby stable and fleeing from the scene like a coward.

A sorrowful sigh escaped Arthas as it all sunk in. Reluctantly, he reached for his sheathed sword and laid his hand upon the hilt. "I'm sorry," he whispered. Remorse was all he could feel and was probably all that he would experience for the remainder of his life.

Stashed at the middle of the bridge laid the backpack next to the corpse of a fine white stallion. Its fur tips frozen, its eyes bloodshot and its face was frozen in fear that had been with it since Arthas touched the stallion.

With a stoic expression, Arthas walked over and picked up the backpack. In the process he glanced at the stallion only briefly, but it was enough to break his expression as it reminded him of yet another failure in his life. His first and perhaps the most denting of them all.

It made him angry and sad beyond common sense. He was doomed to walk Azeroth in search of a purpose that would never come, to protect a land and the people that lived in them that hated him to their very core, and to always run from himself and all who seeked to find him.

Slinging the backpack over his shoulder, the lone human began to walk towards the plains, feeling the aching guilt of torturing a thousand souls gnawing at his mind. I'm a coward.

Inside the sword that hang sheathed from Arthas' waist sat an old man with a golden crown upon his head. Him, but one amongst a maelstrom of thousands of screaming souls, he sat, looking up into the endless abyss, tears falling from this once great man's eyes.

 _Life will wither and die around you, my son, for such is the path you have chosen. You shall never rest._


End file.
